


If It Satiates Your Appetite

by RushingHeadlong



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Clubbing, First Meetings, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Leather Culture, Light BDSM, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-20
Updated: 2021-03-20
Packaged: 2021-03-27 11:33:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30122112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RushingHeadlong/pseuds/RushingHeadlong
Summary: Freddie spends the night out at a New York City leather bar.
Relationships: Freddie Mercury/Thor Arnold
Comments: 3
Kudos: 11





	If It Satiates Your Appetite

**Author's Note:**

> The club is very roughly based on The Anvil, as described in Phoebe’s book, Thor and Lee’s new book, and the wikipedia article for the club. Thor’s meeting with Freddie, including the dialogue, is also taken from his book.
> 
> Beyond that, this is a very self-indulgent little piece and I’m not bothered about further “historical accuracy” with this.
> 
> (Title from “Renato Dall’Ara” by Los Campesinos!)

Loud music pulses through the club as Freddie makes his way through the crowd of people towards the large bar in the back. Freddie doesn’t recognize the song playing, though he’s sure he’s heard it before - in some other city, in some other club, in a different crowd of men who dance and grind and grab at each other in time with the beat. Freddie weaves between those undulating bodies, moving in a dance of his own as he slips past oblivious couples and the wandering hands of those who haven’t yet found a partner for the night.

Freddie might join the crowds on the dance floor later but first, he needs a drink.

The performance area near the bar is empty, for now at least, but it’s immediately apparent that Freddie must have just missed an earlier show because there’s two men suspended over the bar as Freddie approaches it. They’re both young and lithe, the exact sort of boys who always end up in these positions, and they’re both shirtless, though that’s where their similarities end. One is blond and in tight jeans, while the other is dark-haired and wearing only leather chaps that leave his ass exposed - and probably his cock as well, though with the position he’s in that at least is hidden by one raised leg.

Freddie finds a spot against the bar underneath the boy in jeans, and he idly glances up at him as he waits for the bartender to get to him. Freddie has seen enough of these semi-public bondage performances to suspect that the boy hanging above him hasn’t done this before. His rope ties are more simple and he doesn’t stay still like his partner does on the other end of the bar - but regardless, he looks just as beautiful in his bondage despite, or perhaps because of, his inexperience with it.

So Freddie admires the lines of his body as he orders a beer and pays for his drink, because that’s why the young men are there. They’re the evening’s decorations, the playthings who will probably end up in the downstairs backroom later in the night - or else back on the performance stage for some risqué demonstration, like the fisting show that had taken Freddie by surprise the last time he was in New York.

That sort of thing isn’t _quite_ his scene, and he can’t deny that he much prefers the quiet suspension to some of the more extreme fetishes that get acted out on the stage or in the dark privacy of the rooms downstairs. The suspension, at least, is something that Freddie wouldn’t mind trying himself - though even here, in the safety of his clubs and surrounded by men like him, Freddie finds himself holding back.

There’s a delicate balance that he has to strike between his desires and his not-entirely irrational fears, between exploring himself in his private life and keeping his public image (and Queen’s image) free of too much scrutiny. He’s not afraid of someone in this club running their mouth to the press; there’s enough celebrities in New York that his fame alone doesn’t make him particularly noteworthy, and even though these men are strangers they will still protect the privacy of one of their own.

But Freddie does have to worry about marks, rope burns on his forearms and lashes across his back. He has to worry about what he wears, not just because he cares about how he looks but because he has to make sure that no one outside the club snaps an incriminating photo of Freddie if he were to wear the wrong sort of leather or, god forbid, any of his proper dance outfits.

Strange how Freddie can go out on stage in leather trousers and a biker’s hat every night on tour and the fans will eat it up, but if he’s caught in more than his leather jacket while off-stage the tabloids will come down on him with no mercy.

So Freddie keeps his feet firmly planted on the ground and only admires the performers flying over the bar, but makes no moves to join them himself. He casts his gaze out across the crowd instead, watching the dancers with an appreciative eye though he thinks he’s fine with staying on the sidelines for now. He rather danced himself out at the other clubs earlier in the evening and it’s enough for now to just be here, admiring the bodies of these other men as they let the music move them and knowing that the glances he receives in turn are because of his looks and not simply because he’s Freddie fucking Mercury.

“Can I buy you a drink?”

The question is posed by a short man who sidles up next to Freddie while he’s distracted by the dancers. The man is attractive enough, Freddie supposes, but not exactly his type, with longer hair pulled back in a low ponytail and an open leather vest over a bare and rather scrawny chest. Freddie thinks he sees the glint of a piercing on one nipple and that’s a little intriguing, but not intriguing enough for Freddie to want to lead the man on.

“I think I’m all set,” Freddie says, holding up his beer and flashing the man an apologetic smile.

The man takes the rejection easily and moves on, and Freddie turns his attention back to the dance floor. Truthfully there’s not many men here that are really catching his eye, and the ones that are here already seem to have found themselves a partner for the night. Freddie watches a tall, dark-haired man walk by with some interest but when he catches a glimpse of the man’s ass he winces at the sight of a brown handkerchief hanging out of the rear left pocket. He knows better than most that there’s some regional variations to the handkerchief code, but if that color means what he thinks it does then Freddie is absolutely certain that he doesn’t want to hookup with that particular man tonight.

So Freddie lets him walk past without trying to catch his attention. It’s looking more and more like Freddie might be going home alone at the end of this evening, which he has to admit is a little disappointing. Few things can burn off his post-show adrenaline rush quite like sex can; even the drinking and the drugs he took earlier in the night can only take his edge off so much, and his earlier handsy dancing only ratched up his desires rather than calming Freddie down at all.

That doesn’t mean that Freddie is so desperate for a partner that he’s willing to take anyone back to his hotel, though. It might be more fun to have a muscled leather daddy pinning him against the wall and growling filth in his ear as he pops open the button on Freddie’s jeans, but he can get himself off if push comes to shove. That’s always a better option than hooking up with someone that doesn’t do anything for him, and that will only leave Freddie feeling bored at best (or disgusted at worst) by the end of it.

There will always be other clubs to go to later, with different men and more opportunities for Freddie to have his fun. If there’s one lesson he’s learned well over the years it’s that he’s not missing out on anything if he chooses to go home alone tonight.

Freddie drains his beer and moves aside as a few men start the process of carefully lowering the suspended boys back down. He wanted to get another drink but he should wait until they’re done before heading back over to the bar. Or maybe he should just call it a night here and head back to his hotel, especially if things in the club are winding down and he’s going to be striking out this evening…

But as he watches the men work on untying the suspended boys, something at the far end of the bar catches his attention. There’s a group of three men there that Freddie saw when he first walked in, and one in particular who definitely caught his eye. Large and blond and looking _gorgeous_ in a tight tank top, Freddie would have taken a chance and gone to say hello except he thought the three of them were already together.

Now it seems like those plans have fallen through, or perhaps they were only ever friends, because Tall and Blond has said goodbye to the other two and is now heading in Freddie’s direction.

Freddie pretends to still be casually watching the dance floor, though his heart is racing slightly in excitement as he tracks the man’s movement across the club out of the corner of his eye.

It doesn’t take long for the man to reach him and Freddie finally glances over at him, feigning nonchalance, as he waits for him to make his first impression. Freddie hopes it’s a good one; he might not mind men getting handsy when he’s dancing with them, but he draws the line at being groped off the dance floor or being greeted with a comment that’s more crude than complimentary.

Luckily, the man just smiles easily at him and asks, “Hey, how are you doing tonight?”

The polite greeting is very much appreciated, and when Freddie risks a quick glance down at the man’s rear he’s relieved that there’s no surprises waiting for him in the form of colored handkerchiefs, leaving Freddie free to respond in kind.

“Fine,” he says, just as politely. “How are you?”

“Also fine,” the man says, and Freddie finds himself smiling a little at that response. “My name is Thor. What’s yours?”

 _Thor_. God, Freddie doesn’t think he’s ever met anyone with a more appropriate name in his life. “My name is Fred,” he says.

Thor’s smile widens into something a little warmer, now that it’s clear that Freddie is interesting in talking, but there’s no sudden spark of recognition in his eyes. As far as he’s concerned they’re just two men striking up a conversation at the bar. The introductions might make whatever unfolds from here slightly less anonymous than it sometimes can be but there’s still no expectations, no pressure for Freddie to be anything more than simple _Fred_ , no need for Thor to be anyone but a willing bed-mate for a single night - if they ever get that far, of course.

It’s always impossible to predict how things will turn out in clubs like these. Things can move quickly, situations changing faster than the tempo switch as one song fades out and another comes on, but Freddie has done this dance before. He gives Thor another once-over, a little more pointed this time, and lets his appreciation show through - and when Thor’s gaze darkens, just a little, Freddie feels confident that he just might get lucky this evening after all.

**Author's Note:**

> For those who are curious, a brown handkerchief usually means the person is interested in scat play. I'm not one to kinkshame, but I think it's safe to say that Freddie wouldn't be particularly interested in that.


End file.
